


And This Is Supposed To Match (The Darkness That You Felt)

by justkisa



Series: To Dust or To Gold [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 09:05:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3244019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkisa/pseuds/justkisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People are always asking Aleks how he and Edin met. Aleks always tells them the same story. The story’s about how it’s such a small world, it’s about a chance meeting in a bar in Chicago, but, all the little details of the story, the ones that always make people laugh, they aren’t true. They’re just a story. There are only two things about the story that are true. There was a bar and it was in Chicago. </p>
<p>This is the true story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And This Is Supposed To Match (The Darkness That You Felt)

**Author's Note:**

> 1) So the good folks at cityTV, in their infinite wisdom, produced [this beauty of a video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sNaEILqzuks) as part of their Advent calendar festivities and I, of course, immediately thought boxing AU. So, here we are, Aleks as a professional boxer and Edin as a trainer (though not Aleks’ trainer - at least not yet). 
> 
> 2) Nikola is Aleks’ brother. In this AU he’s Aleks’ manager. 
> 
> Additional Warnings: 1) Adultery/Infidelity. 2) Un-negotiated kink with a stranger. 3) Risky/unsafe sex with a stranger. 4) Brief moment of minor violence towards a sexual partner.

The cut on the inside of Aleks’ left cheek is still bleeding sluggishly. He presses his tongue against it until it hurts, a dull, aching thrum of pain, and the familiar salt-copper brightness of blood coats his tongue. He swallows, lets that taste slide down his throat, and lifts his head to look at himself in the mirror. 

The cut above his left eye had taken eight stitches to close. The stitches march in neat, dark lines along Aleks’ brow. It’d happened in the third round, barely a cut, deep enough to bleed but nothing serious. Then Howard had dragged his laces across it in the sixth round tearing it open and sending blood pouring down Aleks’ face. He can’t feel it. It’s still numb from the local the doctor gave him before stitching him up.

He flexes his hands. He can always tell how hard a fight was by the way his hands ache afterwards. Tonight it’s the bone-deep ache that only comes from the most grueling fights.

He rests his hands flat on the dresser and leans in to take a closer look at his right eye. He can see the beginnings of bruising, bright red with smudges of purple, under his eye. He thinks it’s from the hit in the seventh round, the one that left him dazed and wobbling. Howard has a punch like a freight train. He’s one of the few fighters Aleks has faced who hits as hard as he does. The fight had turned on that hit. Aleks had never gotten his footing back. 

Aleks straightens up. He flexes his hands again just to feel the ache in his fingers. He looks down at his hands. His wedding ring shines dully in the low light of the room. He runs his finger along the line of it then pulls it off. He puts it down on the dresser. 

“You could,” Nikola says, “stay here. Have a drink with me.” 

Aleks glances up. In the mirror, he can see Nikola sprawled out on the bed behind him. He’s still wearing most of his suit. His tie is loose, though, and his shirt’s half-untucked. He isn’t wearing his shoes and his left pant leg is pushed up almost to his knee. His suit jacket is in a balled-up heap at the end of the bed. He’s drinking vodka straight out of one of the little bottles from the mini-bar. 

Aleks looks back down. He doesn’t say anything. He and Nikola both know that what he’s looking for can’t be found in a bottle. 

He pushes up his sleeve and takes off his watch. His fingertips catch on the tape residue on his wrist. No matter how hard he scrubs after a fight it takes awhile to wear off. He puts his watch down next to his wedding ring, nudging it into a precise line so his wedding ring is parallel to the face of the watch. 

Aleks turns away from the dresser. He goes to the closet by the door and gets his coat. He turns his back on Nikola, who’s already moved on to another bottle. The empty one is on the floor by the nightstand. Aleks pulls on his gloves. “I’ll see you later,” he says, without turning around, “Don’t wait up.” 

Nikola makes a harsh, ugly sound that’s almost a laugh. “Do I ever?”

Aleks doesn’t answer. He pushes the door open, steps out into the hall, and lets the door slam shut behind him.

***

It’s bitterly cold outside. Aleks turns up the collar of his coat against the wind. The sidewalk is wet from the desultory flurries which had fallen in the early evening. There are patches of snow from older storms dotting the edges of the sidewalk. In the daylight, they were filthy and gray but now they gleam opalescent-white in the angled light of the streetlights.

Aleks checks his phone then heads in the direction of the nearest ‘L’ station. 

The station isn’t crowded but there are a few people milling around. Aleks moves down the platform, away from the people. 

He doesn’t have to wait long for a train. He sits next to a window. He lets himself give into exhaustion and slumps against the window. He rests his cheek against the window. The cool glass feels good on his bruises. 

When Aleks reaches his destination, he exits the station and walks until he’s encircled in the light of the nearest street lamp. He pulls out his phone. If he’s in the right place, he should only have two more blocks to walk. He turns to the left and starts walking. 

It turns out to be more like four blocks but Aleks finds what he was looking for. 

The club’s sign is done in glowing purple neon. There’s no line out front or anything, which suits Aleks. There are a few people outside smoking. The light of the sign washes over their faces painting them in shades of lilac. One of them says, “Well, hello there,” to Aleks as he walks past. Aleks walks by him without saying anything. 

The inside of the club is over-warm in the way only places packed full of people are. It’s loud and the music playing reverberates in Aleks’ ears. His head already aches and the music is like a hammer to his skull. 

Aleks flips his collar down. He pulls off his gloves and shoves them in his pockets. Then he starts moving through the throngs of people towards the bar. 

There’s a scant, shoulders-breadth of space at the corner of the bar next to a tall man with sandy colored hair. Aleks wedges himself into the space and unzips his coat. In the process, he inadvertently elbows the man next to him. Aleks turns towards him as much as the space allows and says, “Sorry.” 

The man puts his glass down on the bar and turns towards Aleks. “It’s all right.” He has a slight accent but not enough of one that Aleks can readily identify it. He smiles at Aleks. His smile is a little crooked and it makes him look like he’s laughing at a joke only he’s heard. “There’s not a lot of space, is there?” he says.

“No,” Aleks says. 

The man is staring at him. His eyes flicker from Aleks’ stitches to his bruises. Aleks waits to see if he’ll ask about them. He never talks to the men who ask about them. The man’s gaze lingers on them but all he says is, “Good luck getting the bartender’s attention.” 

Aleks decides he cares less about the bartender’s attention than he does about the man’s attention. “If I get it,” he says, “Can I buy you a drink?”

The man picks up his glass and wiggles it a little. “I have a drink.” He puts his drink back down. “Ask me for something else.” 

Aleks leans in a little. “Like what?” 

The man turns so he’s facing Aleks more fully. He’s wearing a unbuttoned black coat and a light blue sweater, tight enough that it hints at the musculature of his chest and stomach. He looks Aleks up and down. He purses his mouth, the corners of it tugging down, shrugs, and says, “Whatever you want.” Then he smiles, slow, like an invitation.

“Whatever I want?” Aleks says, leaning in closer, close enough that he can catch a hint of the man’s cologne, woodsy and fresh, and see the way his hair is darkened by sweat along his hairline. 

“Yeah,” the man says, low enough that Aleks has to lean in even closer to hear him, “Whatever you want.”

“Are you going to give it to me? Whatever I ask for?” Aleks says, tilting his head so he can speak right into the man’s ear.

The man turns back towards the bar. His shoulder brushes across Aleks’ chest. He takes a sip of his drink then he looks over his shoulder at Aleks and says, with a little smile, “Ask me and find out.” 

“Leave with me,” Aleks says. 

The man doesn’t answer right away but he doesn’t look away from Aleks. Aleks stares back at him. It feels like facing down an opponent in the ring during the first few seconds of a fight. He can’t - _won’t_ \- look away. 

The man turns, picks up his drink, and downs it in two quick swallows. Aleks watches his throat work and waits. The man slams the glass down on the bar and turns to face Aleks. “Okay,” he says. 

Aleks smiles. “Come on,” he says. He turns away from the bar and starts walking through the crowd. 

He doesn’t look back until he’s outside. He zips his coat up and turns around. The man is there behind him. His head is bowed and he’s buttoning up his coat. Aleks pulls on his gloves and waits. “So,” the man says, when he looks up, “Are you going to tell me your name?”

“Aleks.” He doesn’t ask for the man’s name. He’ll give it or he won’t. Aleks doesn’t care as long as he gives Aleks other things. 

The man smiles a little. “Hello, Aleks. I’m Edin.” 

Aleks nods. “So,” he says, “Where?” in case the man - Edin - wants to take him home with him.

Edin laughs a little. “You asked me, so…”

Aleks looks around just enough to orient himself. “This way,” he says, turning to the left, “There is a motel, I think, a little bit this way.” He knows it’s there. It’s why he picked this bar.

“Sure,” Edin says, “Whatever you want.” 

Aleks starts walking. It only takes a second for Edin to catch up to him. The wind is blowing harder than it had been earlier. It’s numbingly cold. Aleks turns his collar up and walks faster. 

Edin keeps pace with him. “Fucking Chicago in the winter,” he says, “always so fucking cold. And the wind, _shit_ , I hate it.” 

It’s an invitation to talk but Aleks doesn’t want to talk to him. He doesn’t want to get to know him or some shit like that. That’s not what this is about. Aleks ignores him and keeps walking. 

Edin doesn’t say anything else but he doesn’t turn around and leave. He keeps walking alongside Aleks.

***

The best thing Aleks can say about the motel room is that it’s warm. He pulls the door shut behind him and switches on the light. The overhead lamp flickers and sputters to life. The anemic, fluorescent light doesn’t make the room look any better. The lamp barely lights the room and it leaves the corners lingering in shadow.

Edin is standing two paces in front of him, his back to Aleks. Aleks pulls off his gloves and shoves them in his pockets. He unzips his coat and takes two steps forward. “Turn around,” he says. He touches Edin deliberately for the first time, glancing his palm along his side. The wool of his coat is rough against Aleks' bare palm.

Edin turns around and squares his shoulders. Aleks hooks his fingers in between the second and third button of his coat and kisses him. His lips are cold and slightly chapped. He opens his mouth and, for a moment, it feels like surrender. He tastes sweet and little spicy, like sugar and ginger. 

His moment of surrender, though, is a feint, a distraction from an incoming sucker-punch. He scrapes his teeth along Aleks’ bottom lip and turns the kiss into a rough, battling thing. Aleks fists his hand in Edin’s coat, the rigid edge of the wool scoring his palm, and holds on.

When it’s over, Edin’s hands are clapped around Aleks’ arms, his fingers digging in so hard Aleks can feel the press of them through his coat and his sweater. Aleks can taste blood. His cheek is bleeding again, the rust-salt tang of blood mixing on his tongue with the stolen sweet-spice taste of Edin’s mouth. He presses the tip of his tongue to the back of his teeth and holds the taste there, lets it linger in his mouth.

Edin’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling in a quick, jumping rhythm. His mouth is open and he’s staring straight at Aleks. Aleks kisses him again. 

Kissing Edin is like being in the ring, like fighting a bout that’s too close to call, a constant grappling battle. 

This time, when they come apart, there’s blood - Aleks’ blood - on Edin’s mouth, smeared along the lush curve of his lower lip. Edin’s flushed, hectic streaks of red along the defined lines of his cheekbones. His hands are fisted in Aleks’ coat so tightly the sleeves are constricting around Aleks’ arms. Aleks leans in and licks his blood off Edin’s mouth. Edin makes a low, soft sound, an echo of that earlier glimpse of surrender.

“Put me,” Aleks says, his blood, warm from Edin’s mouth, on his tongue, “on my knees,” because he isn’t interested in surrender. The battle they’re fighting - he wants to lose. 

He lets go of Edin and waits. He can feel his heartbeat, the way he sometimes can in the ring, each skip and jump reverberating through his chest. He counts the beats, _1, 2, 3_ , and waits. Then, between one beat and the next, Edin hooks his foot around Aleks’ leg, jams his heel into Aleks’ calf and tugs hard on Aleks’ coat sleeves. 

It’s not enough to bring Aleks down unless he wants to go. 

He hits the floor hard. The sharp, jarring pain of the impact shudders through him. He can feel every bruise, every sore spot, the fresh pain’s like a lit match tossed on a dying fire, everything comes roaring back to life. He lets it settle into him, the old pain and the new, then he looks up at Edin. 

Edin’s unbuttoning his coat. He shucks it off and drops it on the floor. It hits the carpet with a muffled thud. He looks down at Aleks and licks his lips. Aleks echoes the action and Edin’s shoulders hitch up. He dips his head and starts unbuttoning his pants. Once he’s unzipped his pants, he pauses and lifts his head to look at Aleks. He drops his hands to his sides. He’s clenching and unclenching his fists, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, like he doesn’t know what to do next. “Uh,” he says, soft and unsure, “So…” 

Aleks doesn’t want soft and unsure. He wants the grappling battle of their kisses, wants the part of Edin which’d been willing to force him to his knees. “Make me,” he says.

“Make you?” Edin says.

“You want me to suck your dick?” Aleks says. Edin nods, quick and jerky. “Then make me,” Aleks says.

Edin stares at him, mouth open, like he wants to speak but doesn’t know what to say. His hands are clenched in fists at his sides. Aleks waits. He can see the moment Edin decides to do it. Can see it in the flattened line of his mouth and the way he squares his shoulders. It feels like victory, like the hard thrum of adrenaline he gets when he lands the perfect punch. 

Edin unclenches his hands. He reaches out and curls his hand along the side of Aleks’ head. His hand is warm and his touch is light. He licks his lips. “Okay,” he says, low and implacably sure, “All right.” He digs his fingertips hard into Aleks’ scalp. Aleks tilts his head into the sharp sting of pain.

Edin lets him go. He brings his hands to the fly of his pants. Aleks presses his lips together and waits. He can still taste blood. Edin drops his hands and steps back. “Wha—“ Aleks starts.

Edin steps back again. He sits down on the edge of the bed and cuts him off, “Come here.” The words are short and clipped and they aren’t a request. Aleks starts to push up onto his feet. “No,” Edin says, “No.” Aleks drops back onto his heels. “On,” he says. His voice falters. He pauses and takes a breath. It’s low and shuddery but the sound of it’s loud in the hush of the room. “On,” he says, his voice gone hard and sure, “your knees.” 

Revulsion blooms in the back of Aleks throat like something he can taste, something rotting and sweet. He swallows and it almost chokes him. But something else is curling up his spine. Something warm and insidiously irresistible. If he does this, Edin will give him what he wants. And he _wants_.

He pushes up off his heels. He shifts one knee forward then the other. It’s slow going, working his way towards Edin like this, but he won’t use his hands. He won’t look away from Edin for a single second. The rough fabric of his jeans digs into his knees and rubs uncomfortably across his shins. His whole body protests every shuffling hitch forward, every ache and bruise blooming into bright starbursts of pain. 

When he makes it to Edin, he’s sweating and hurting. And he’s hard. It’s an unwanted revelation, the way his body reacts to crawling towards Edin, the way it makes him _want_. His revulsion is still there, lying heavy in his stomach, but his wanting’s twisted up in it. The wanting’s winning, like the revulsion only serves to feed it, make it stronger. 

Edin spreads his legs and says, “Closer.” Aleks shuffles forward until he’s between Edin’s thighs. Edin skims his hand across the top of Aleks’ head. “Good.” 

Aleks tips his chin up and waits. Edin leaves his hand on Aleks’ head and, with his other hand, he works his dick out of his pants. He’s hard. If Aleks just dipped his head he could slide his mouth right along the head of his dick. He won’t. He waits. 

Edin curves his hand along the back of Aleks’ head and jerks him forward. Edin’s dick bumps against Aleks’ mouth, slides along his cheek. Aleks can smell him, sweat and something darker, earthier, a scent so strong he can almost taste it. Edin digs his fingernails into his scalp. “Open your mouth.” 

Aleks presses his lips together. Edin slides his hand down his dick until his hand is curled over the head and his knuckles are pushing right against Aleks’ mouth. “Open,” he says, “Come on.” 

Aleks doesn’t.

Edin pushes him forward. One of his knuckles jams between Aleks’ lips and presses against his teeth. “Open,” he says, hard and rasping, “Your mouth.”

Aleks parts his lips and opens his mouth just wide enough for Edin’s knuckle to slide between his teeth. He bites down. Edin makes a hissing, startled sound and his fingernails scrape along Aleks’ scalp. 

Aleks opens his mouth. 

Edin pushes his knuckles into Aleks’ mouth until Aleks’ mouth is stretched wide around his curled fingers. His skin tastes clean, like cold water on Aleks’ tongue. “There we go,” he says, his voice rough and approving, “That’s better.” 

He pulls Aleks forward and pushes his dick through his fingers into Aleks’ mouth. The taste of him, salt and bitter, bursts on Aleks’ tongue. He jerks Aleks forward until Aleks chokes. He holds Aleks there, his dick shoved deep in Aleks’ mouth, his hand splayed across the back of Aleks’ head, his hold solid and unrelenting. It takes Aleks a moment - a shuddering, breathless moment - to remember to breathe through his nose. _This_ is what he wanted, someone’s dick, thick and heavy on his tongue, someone to force him, _use_ him, to drive him out of his head.

Edin slides his other hand along the side of Aleks’ face, curls it along the side of Aleks’ head. His thumb catches on the edge of the bruising around Aleks’ eye. Pain prickles across Aleks’ skin like a shower of burning sparks. Aleks wants to turn his face into it, wants to feel that warm, staccato rush of pain again. He’s trapped, though, held tight between Edin’s hands. He brings his hand up and fumbles it over Edin’s. He pulls on Edin’s hand until Edin’s thumb is nudging the edge of the bruise. 

Edin pulls him back off his dick. Aleks lets his hand drop back to his side. That wasn’t what he wanted. He wants Edin’s dick back in his mouth. He takes a breath, because he can, and it’s gasping and rough. Edin’s dick is right there in front of his mouth and he _wants_ —“You want,” Edin says, and he presses his thumb against the bruise. Pain shivers along Aleks’ skin in pleasing, sparkling bursts. “Like this?” 

“Yes,” Aleks says. 

“Okay,” Edin says. He digs his thumb in harder. The pain’s sharper and, for a second, shadows waver at the edges of Aleks’ vision. He blinks, lets the pain settle, lets it claw its way into him and latch on until he’s entrapped by it as surely as he is by Edin’s hands. 

Edin pulls Aleks forward and shoves his dick back into Aleks’ mouth. “I’m,” he says, rasping and low, his accent thickening, “Just—just going to fuck your mouth, just—“ He’s pushing up into Aleks’ mouth in hard, jerky thrusts. His dick stretches Aleks’ mouth in the best way. It slides across Aleks’ tongue and the head pushes against the back of his throat until he gags. Edin doesn’t stop. He pushes and pushes, his hands tight on Aleks’ head, and Aleks just takes it. He takes it until his mouth is sore and spit is leaking out of the corners his mouth and running down his chin. He takes it until his whole world is Edin’s dick on his tongue and the pain radiating out along his skin from the press of Edin’s fingers. 

“You—“ Edin says. He tips Aleks’ head back and his dick slips out of Aleks’ mouth. Aleks takes a slow, shuddering breath. It burns going down. The air feels raw on his battered throat. “You’re—you’re— Fuck. _Fuck_ —“ 

Aleks takes another breath, that word, _fuck_ , is ringing in his ears, burrowing it’s way into his brain until it’s ringing like a bell, _fuck, fuck, fuck_ , over and over. He wants to know how Edin fucks. Wants to know what Edin would do to him if he got on his hands and knees for him. “You,” he says, and it comes out a graveling rasp, “should fuck me.” 

“What?” Edin says and his grip loosens, his hands slipping along Aleks’ head.

Aleks straightens up a little. He wants to know if Edin would fuck him for real the way he’d fucked his mouth. If he’d dig his fingers into Aleks’ hips the way he’d dug them into Aleks’ scalp, hard, nails scoring Aleks’ skin. ”You,” he says again, “should fuck me.”

Edin opens his mouth. Closes it. “I, uh,” he says, voice faltering a little, “Okay, uh…” He lets go of Aleks but Aleks can still feel him, like his fingerprints have been seared into his skull.

Edin grabs a handful of Aleks’ coat and tugs. “Stand up,” he says, and his voice has steadied, “and get undressed.”

Getting up is a slow and painful process. Edin doesn’t offer him a hand and, even if he had, Aleks wouldn’t have taken it. He gets undressed with mechanical slowness. His shoes first, then his coat, then the rest of his clothes. Edin leans back on one hand and watches him. His other hand is curled around his dick and he touches himself, slow strokes of his hand up and down his dick, while Aleks takes off his clothes. Aleks doesn’t let himself watch him.

When Aleks is done undressing, Edin looks him over, slow and deliberate, and smiles. Wanting prickles across Aleks’ skin. The knowledge that his body pleases Edin gives him an insidious, unwanted thrill. This is _not_ about pleasing Edin. It is _not_. Aleks won’t let it be.

Aleks stands up straight and squares his shoulders. Edin says, “Get on the bed,” and stands up. 

The bed is covered in a dingy green bedspread stitched with a pattern of cross-hatched lines. Aleks climbs onto it and gets on his hands and knees. The stitching on the bedspread digs into his palms and his knees. “Do you,” Edin says, his voice gone a little breathless, “have…”

“Back pocket of my jeans,” Aleks says. 

“Okay,” Edin says. Aleks can hear the rustling of cloth then the bed dips under Edin’s weight. Aleks shifts his hands so he can stay upright. 

Edin moves and the bed shakes a little. He comes and kneels between Aleks’ calves. His jeans brush against Aleks’ skin. He puts his hands on Aleks’ hips. His touch is light and his hands are warm and a little rough. Aleks can feel the cuffs of his sweater catching along his skin. He has Aleks naked, on his hands and knees, but he’s still fully dressed. 

Edin lets go of him. Aleks hears plastic tearing then Edin’s sliding his lube-slick fingers along the crack of Aleks’ ass. Aleks makes a sound, low and involuntary. It’s torn out of him. It’s such desperate sound. He wants to take it back, wants to swallow it down then spit it out. It’s not his. It’s not _him_. He bites down hard on his lower lip and fists his hands in the bedspread. 

When Edin pushes his fingers inside Aleks, slow and careful, Aleks bites down harder. He can feel the sound he wants to make, feel it rattling in his chest, feel it clawing its way up his throat. He swallows and grinds his teeth against his lip. 

Edin pulls his fingers out. He curls his hand around Aleks’ hip and says, “Okay?” 

Aleks unclenches his jaw. He opens his mouth and touches his tongue to his lower lip. He can taste blood, copper-bright and freshly drawn. “Just,” he says, “fuck me,” and it comes out gravelly and deep and more desperate than he wants. 

Edin squeezes Aleks’ hip. “Okay,” he says and lets go of Aleks. 

There’s the sound of plastic tearing again and then Edin curves his hand back along Aleks’ hip. His touch is light for a moment, just the skim of his palm along Aleks’ skin, then he clamps down hard, fingertips digging into Aleks’ flesh. At the first brush of the head of his dick against Aleks’ hole, Aleks bites down. He sets his teeth deliberately against the torn open slash on his lip. Blood slides, slick and warm, into his mouth and the pain is sharp and bright. 

Edin pushes his dick inside him and the blunt pressure, the stretch, it’s perfect. Aleks wants to arch his back, push back into it. He hangs his head and holds himself as still as he can. Edin pushes relentlessly forward until his hips brush against Aleks’ ass, his jeans rubbing along Aleks’ skin. Then he’s all the way inside Aleks and Aleks is so full, so stretched.

“Oh,” Edin says, soft and breathy, “ _Oh,_ fuck.” He curls his other hand around Aleks’ hip. His fingers are still a little slick with lube and they slide along Aleks’ skin. He digs his fingers in and starts to move. He fucks Aleks slow with long, steady strokes, and the pleasure of it’s a maddening friction under Aleks’ skin, so good, but it’s not enough. 

Edin makes these sounds as he fucks Aleks, these low, breathy sighs, and these rough, purring murmurs, and they fall like tiny licks of flame along Aleks’ skin. 

Aleks opens his mouth to breathe, he needs to breathe. He takes a big gulping breath. He needs— “ _Please_ ,” he says, the words tumbling out faster than he can stop them, his English long forgotten, “ _More. Harder. Please_.” He bites his tongue and the quick sting of pain halts his cascading stream of words. 

“Aleks, _oh_ ,” Edin says, low and unsteady, “o—“

Aleks takes another breath. In and out. “Harder,” he says and his voice is almost steady, “Fuck me harder.”

“Okay,” Edin says, “Okay.” He jerks Aleks’ hips up. Aleks collapses forward onto his elbows. He starts to push himself back up but Edin slides his hand down Aleks’ back and pushes his face into the bed. Aleks gets a mouthful of the bedspread. “No,” Edin says, “Stay.” He presses down hard, grinding Aleks’ face into the bedspread. It’s hard to breathe and it makes his bruises ache. He can smell the faint residue of bleach and cheap laundry detergent. “Stay,” Edin says again and lets go. He drags his hand back up Aleks’ back and rests it on his hip. 

Aleks turns his head so he can breathe easier but he stays down. “Good,” Edin says and then he starts to move again. He fucks Aleks hard and fast with quick, hammering thrusts. The slow-building friction of pleasure under Aleks’ skin catches fire and whirls through him like an out-of-control conflagration. 

Edin slides his hand across Aleks’ stomach and curls it around Aleks’ dick. Aleks would never have asked for that but he _wants_ it. Edin’s grip is sure and tight. _Perfect_. He jerks Aleks, quick and rough, while he fucks him. 

When Aleks comes, he turns his face into the bedspread. He fills his mouth with the musty, cotton fabric so that the aching, desperate sound that’s wrenched out of him is muffled. He stays there, face pressed against the fabric, until he’s sure he can be quiet, then he turns his head and rests his cheek on the bedspread.

Edin’s still fucking him. It’s too much now. Each thrust sends a strange prickle of sensation through him almost like pleasure but not. He doesn’t care. He’s still dazed from coming, still riding the high from the hard, mind-blanking punch of pleasure. 

“Fuck,” Edin says, “Aleks, _fuck._ ” He digs his fingers into Aleks’ hips and his fingernails score Aleks’ skin. “Fuck,” he says again and pulls Aleks tight against him. Aleks can feel the buttons of his jeans digging into his ass. “Aleks,” he says, “I, _oh_.” His grip on Aleks goes slack and his hands slide along Aleks’ sides. 

For a moment, he slumps, heavy and warm, against Aleks. Then he’s pulling away, pulling out of Aleks. He goes a little too fast and Aleks flinches. Edin clumsily pets his side. “Sorry. Sorry.” He flops down next to Aleks and the whole bed shudders. 

Aleks waits until the bed is still than he flops over onto his back. The bedspread is cool against his heated skin. He doesn’t look at Edin. He can hear the soft, shuddery pants of his breathing. They’re the only sound, save that of his own breathing, in the room. He closes his eyes and listens to Edin breathe, to the way his breaths slow and even out. 

He isn’t ready for what comes next. Not yet. 

“Can I,” Edin says, after awhile, Aleks can’t tell how much time has past, “ask you something?”

In Aleks’ current state of empty languor, nothing seems to matter, not losing the fight to Howard, not the reality of what he’s just done, not questions. He opens his eyes. There’s a stain on the ceiling right above his head. He turns his head to look at Edin. He’s sprawled across the bed in an ungainly arrangement of limbs. His pants are still unbuttoned and unzipped. He’s looking right at Aleks. “Okay,” Aleks says, “Sure.”

Edin pushes up onto his arm and rests his head in his hand. “Was it Raduka who told you to keep going at Howard’s right side like that in the last few rounds? Because Howard defends better on that side and…” 

He’s still talking but Aleks doesn’t hear him. Everything’s fuzzed out. The sound of Edin’s voice is buzzing in his ears like static. He can’t move. It feels like when he opens his eyes after being knocked out. Everything blurs and spins. He closes his eyes. He can get up. He can— 

Aleks pushes himself onto his knees, heaves himself up through sheer force of will. Edin’s still talking. “Shut up,” Aleks snaps, “Shut up. Shut up. _Shut up._ _Who the fuck are you?_ ” He stops. That wasn’t even in English. He can’t— _Fuck_.

Edin’s mouth is hanging open. He closes it with an audible snap then he pushes up onto his knees so they’re face to face. “I’m Edin Džeko. I’m a trainer. I, uh, worked with Emir Spahić. One of my fighters was in one of the bouts on the undercard. I—“ 

For a second, Aleks can’t breathe because Edin - Džeko - isn’t speaking English. And that makes everything that much worse. Everything’s spinning again. Aleks shakes his head. “Shut up,” he says, “Shut up and get the fuck out of here.” 

“I won’t—“ Džeko says, reaching out, like he’s going to touch Aleks. 

Aleks grabs his wrist. He won’t have Džeko’s hands on him right now. He _can’t_. He’s holding Džeko too tight, he can feel the bones of his wrist digging into his palm, but he doesn’t care. “Don’t,” he says, jerking Džeko’s wrist down, so hard Džeko falls back onto his heels, “Don’t fucking touch me.” 

Džeko stares at him for a moment then he straightens back up. “Take,” he says, hard and deliberate, “Your hand off me. Now.”

Aleks drops his wrist. He feels a sudden wash of shame. He doesn’t hurt people outside of the ring, doesn’t use his strength that way. “Get out of here,” he says, looking away from Džeko, “Now.”

“Fine,” Džeko says. The bed rocks which must be from him getting up off the bed.

Aleks sits back on his heels and stares down at his hands. He can hear the rustle of cloth, probably Džeko putting on his coat. Then he hears the door open. “Aleks, uh, Kolarov,” Džeko says and Aleks looks back at him. He’s standing in front of the half-opened door, haloed by the faint, yellow light coming in from the hall. “I, uh, I won’t tell anyone,” Džeko says, “Okay? I wouldn’t.” 

Aleks doesn’t know what Džeko would or wouldn’t do. It doesn’t matter. “Leave,” he says and looks away. Once Džeko is gone the rest of it, what they’d done, what Džeko told him, it’ll all be gone too, like it never was. It never happened. _It never happened._ It’s just like all the other times. None of them happened either. Just because Džeko knows— _It never happened._ That’s all that matters.

Aleks waits for the sound of the door slamming shut but instead, Džeko says, “Kolarov.” Aleks doesn’t look back. He wants Džeko gone but he keeps talking. “You, uh, you’re too good a fighter for a trainer like Raduka,” he says, he’s talking fast, rushing through the words, “You could much better. I just—“ He stops and mutters something that sounds like _fuck it_. “I just wanted to tell you that.”

Aleks looks back at him but he’s turning away and the door slams shut behind him before Aleks can say anything. He closes his mouth and stares at the door. He doesn’t know what he would’ve said. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if Džeko’s right. Or if he’s wrong. He’s gone. And this never happened. None of it. That’s the way it has to be.

He flops back onto the bed, too exhausted to stay upright any longer. The bed smells like sweat and sex and faint traces Džeko’s woodsy cologne. He closes his eyes. The cathartic high that had come from the sex is gone and all he has left is a bone-deep weariness and his aching, hurting body.

He lays there until he thinks he can stand then he gets up and makes his way to the bathroom. He flips on the light. The bathroom is tiny and he doesn’t look too closely at the condition of the sink or the shower. He cleans himself up a bit. He doesn’t look in the mirror. He doesn’t want to know what - _who_ \- he’d find staring back at him. The bathroom’s so tiny, though, that he keeps getting glimpses of himself out of the corner of his eye. Disjointed pieces of him reflected in the smudged glass of the mirror, flickering in the corner of his vision like restless ghosts. He switches the light off and goes back out into the room. 

He gets dressed. He picks up his coat and holds it in his hands. He’s not ready to go back out into the cold. He’s not ready to go back to his hotel, back to Nikola and his accusing stare, back to being the person he’s supposed to be.

Tomorrow, he decides, is soon enough. He drops his coat on the floor. He goes and checks the door to make sure it’s locked. Then he goes back to the bed and pulls off the bedspread. He leaves it in a heap on the floor. He sets an alarm on his phone then he flops face down on the bed and closes his eyes.

***

It’s early when Aleks leaves the motel. So early it’s not even light yet. It’s earlier than he’d planned to leave but he couldn’t sleep. He spent the night in a restless agitated sleep, chased by a strange, unsettling dreams.

It’s cold outside, colder than the night before, but, for now, the wind isn’t blowing. Aleks shoves his hands in his pockets and starts towards the ‘L’ station. 

He has to wait awhile for a train. There’s only one other person on the platform, a young women with bright, red streaks in her hair. She’s smoking, one cigarette after another. She doesn’t look at Aleks at all which suits Aleks fine. 

Aleks dozes on the train and almost misses his stop but walking out in the cold wakes him right up. 

It’s lighter out when he exits the station. Everything is illuminated in the soft, gray light of early morning. It’s snowing, a scattering of slow, lazy flakes. Aleks flips up his collar and walks a little faster. 

He stops in a little hole-in-the-wall shop for coffee. Nikola is easier to deal with in the morning if he has coffee. 

The shop glows in the early morning light, its windows filled with a warm, yellow-orange light. The windows are fogged with steam and, when he walks in, he can smell fresh bread. The man behind the counter is big and broad and completely bald. Despite the weather, he’s wearing short sleeves, and his thick arms are covered in a maze of brightly colored tattoos. When Aleks orders two regular coffees, black, he says, “Sure you don’t want something to eat? Rolls are fresh.” 

“No, thanks,” Aleks says. He’s not ready for food. He’s barely ready for coffee. His stomach is coiled in sick, tight knots. They’d settled there last night, as he tried to sleep, and they feel like bricks, weighing him down. 

The man shrugs. “Okay,” he says, “Your loss.” He turns and gets Aleks’ coffees. He sets them on the counter and says, “$2.50.”

Aleks hands over the money and picks up the coffees. They’re so hot he can feel the warmth of them through his gloves. “Thanks,” he says.

“Yeah,” the guy says, “Have a good one, all right?”

Aleks nods. “You too,” he says then goes back out into the cold. 

It’s snowing a little harder and the wind’s picked up. The snowflakes whirl around him in dizzying loops. Aleks is glad it’s only a block or so to the hotel. 

There’s no one in the hotel lobby except the woman at the reception desk. She smiles at Aleks and says, “Good morning.”

Aleks nods. “Good morning,” he says and makes his way to the elevator.

When he gets to his room, he opens the door as quietly as he can and gently pulls it closed behind him. Nikola is sprawled over the closest bed, fast asleep. He’s on top of the covers and he’s still fully dressed. The bedside lamp is on. 

Aleks puts one of the cups of coffee on the bedside table next to Nikola’s head. He bends down and picks up the tiny, empty liquor bottles scattered on the rug next to the bed. Nikola’s snoring faintly. He doesn’t stir when Aleks straightens up and the bottles in his hand clack together. 

Aleks puts the bottles in the trash. He doesn’t drop them in. It would make too much noise. He bends down and places them in the bottom of the can. 

Aleks puts the other cup of coffee on the dresser next to his watch. He kicks off his shoes and takes off his coat. He tosses it onto the other bed. 

He goes into the bathroom and pulls the door shut. He turns the shower on as hot as it goes then he starts taking off his clothes. By the time he’s undressed, the bathroom’s filled with steam. He steps under the shower and, for a moment, he just stands under the hot water. 

It’s too hot but, still, he stands under it for a moment, lets it scald his skin. Then he turns it down to a more reasonable temperature and starts to scrub. He scrubs his whole body twice until there’s nothing left of last night on his skin, nothing of his loss, nothing of Džeko, nothing, like none of it ever was. Then he washes his hair and gets out of the shower. He dries himself off and wraps a towel around his waist. 

When he comes out of the bathroom, Nikola’s awake. He’s propped up against the headboard, sipping coffee. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Aleks says.

Nikola tips the cup of coffee in Aleks’ direction. “Thanks for the coffee.” 

Aleks shrugs. “No problem.” 

He goes over to the dresser and pulls out something to wear. He turns his back on Nikola, drops the towel and gets dressed. Once he’s dressed, he picks up his watch. His fingers brush across his wedding ring. 

“So,” Nikola says “Is everything— Are you all right?”

Aleks fastens his watch around his wrist. “Yeah,” he says. Nikola always asks him that and Aleks always says the same thing, always tells him the same lie, because Nikola had told him once, years ago, not to tell him his secrets because he didn’t want to have to keep them. He picks up his wedding ring and slides it back on his finger. The metal’s cool against his skin and he has to push to get it over his knuckle. He turns around, looks Nikola straight in the eyes, and lies, “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Aleks’ opponent in the fight referenced throughout the story is Tim Howard. I feel like Tim Howard would make a great boxer. Fearsome in the ring but a total softy outside it.
> 
> 2) Aleks’ trainer is Borislav Raduka. In real life, Raduka was the manager of FK Čukarički when Aleks made his first team debut for them. In this AU Raduka is the trainer that convinced Aleks to switch from amateur boxing to professional boxing. Aleks has trained with him every since. 
> 
> 3) None of the places mentioned are actually places in Chicago. They were invented solely to suit the purposes of the story.


End file.
